A Light in the Darkness
by ThatOneTrekkie
Summary: Pitch Black has finally freed himself from his lair. He has a plan to build up his power again but decides to move away from Burgess. A fresh start. Hanover City seems like the perfect place at first glance. A new plan is formed once the Boogeyman stumbles upon an interesting young woman with extraordinary abilities. Could she be Pitch's key to destroying the Guardians? WIP
1. Chapter 1

This used to be a crossover fic, but after a lot of thinking, I thought it was best to make this only an RotG fic. I realize its been years since I've worked on this, but hopefully, the fandom is as alive as it was back then.

* * *

Darkness. Always darkness.

It was a bitterly cold night in Hanover. The season was beginning its slow metamorphoses from a somewhat calm and eerie fall to a desolate winter, and the change was palpable. The air was far more rigid, and the nights even more unforgiving. They were longer, darker, and of course, much _much_ colder. Some could argue they were also _crueler_.

The ever-watchful light of the moon was shrouded by dense, nearly opaque clouds. A perfect opportunity for the dark to come and reign again, taking its rightful place over Hanover City and its inhabitants. Of course, the dark itself was nothing to fear. It was what the darkness hid that struck terror into the hearts of more than a few citizens, especially one particularly frazzled young woman.

 _Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

The loud crunch of ice and gravel beneath Kiara's leather combat boots was a little more than she could bare now. Every step reminded her that she was out in the open, all alone, at night, in a poorly lit parking lot. _I knew I should have gone home,_ she thought, being only about half right. Kiara _should_ have gone home right after her evening class, but the fact of the matter was, she _couldn't_. The truth was that Kiara got far more work done here, at school, than she ever would have hoped to at home. _Mainly if_ she _was there._ Unfortunately, that also meant that Kiara would be forced to expose herself to this nightmare each and every time she wanted a little peace and quiet.

Kiara shivered and pulled her thick pea coat around herself a bit tighter, trying in vain to keep the bone-chilling darkness from creeping its way into her clothes and permeating her very skin. Her overloaded backpack was becoming more and more of a burden with each step. She shivered again, but not from the cold. Long, inky black tendrils of the dark would slither into her peripheral vision, but every time she'd dart her eyes to look, they would vanish only to reappear a few moments later. She began walking faster. The dark had always frightened her. The emptiness, it's deathly cold touch, and the ear piercing silence that came with it was too much to deal with without her music. Unfortunately, Kiara had forgotten her phone in the warmth and safety of her car.

The sweet melody of her only musical solace was, what seemed like, miles away from her and the darkness was taking its toll. The air around her began to thin, and the bitter cold of it lodged itself in the depths of her throat. Like a vice, the unforgiving winter began to strangle her, and she could feel herself gasping for air, for freedom. She stumbled forward, and her wobbly knees hit the pavement with a clunky _thud._ Kiara bent over in agony, balancing herself on one hand while the other desperately attempted to pry the imaginary vice open.

Her chest began to tighten, and she could hear the frantic beating of her own heart pounding in her ears. The tendrils of the dark came out in full view this time and rushed around her like the chaotic winds of a hurricane, creating this enclosing space. Suffocating, she struggled for a few moments, shooting her head up and around to see if there was anyone out there who could help her. _Only darkness._

However, through the ever winding coils, she could make out the glare of something broad and made of metal. Her eyes widened at the realization that her car was only a few feet in front of her. She reached out, forcing herself to _crawl_ on hands and knees to the metallic safe house.

 _Please… Gods, please…_

The tendrils seemed to shrink away as she got closer and closer until finally, they disappeared, along with the tightening of her chest and throat. Kiara gasped like a newborn baby and shoved her hand into the pocket of her dirty black jeans, searching wildly for her car keys. An overwhelming wave of relief washed over her when she finally heard the chirp of a car alarm and pulled herself up and into the light and safety of her 1995 Toyota Corolla.

She schlepped her heavy backpack into the back seat and shoved the key into the ignition. She was breathing somewhat irregularly and slowly turned the key. The silence of the night was quickly replaced with the roaring of her engine and an exhausted chuckle from herself as Kiara reclined into the cheap synthetic covering of her seat. She then immediately grabbed her phone from the glove box and let the soothing melody of Bach's "Sarabande" take hold of her and guide her return home.

The horrors of tonight slowly melting away with each passing mile…


	2. Chapter 2

Unfortunately, the music had to end eventually, as did the journey home. "Journey" wasn't really an exaggeration. You see in truth, the distance between Hanover State University in Midtown and her home in Uptown was a little less than a thirty-minute drive across a highway bridging the two islands together; three if she chose to take the bridge over Fayhurst Island. However, Kiara liked taking the longest route possible.

Her favorite route consisted of passing through the Coventry, a particularly macabre section of Midtown. It was enjoyable to slowly move by the morgue and the cathedral. It was like being sandwiched between Death's counterparts. Truth be told, she would love to see inside the city's morgue, to see the beautifully peaceful bodies. Preferably without the caked-on makeup and overly starched formal wear.

For some reason, death has always called to Kiara. It was appealing, to say the least. The thought that someday, at last, she could have peace. Peace from the constant bickering, from desperately trying to keep the darkness away, the nightmares. She sighed. It was comforting, but also somewhat unsettling. The thought of what might happen to Kiara when her body was no more sent shivers up her spine. _A fucked up idea but anything would be better than this._

After passing through her little sanctuary, Kiara would have to drive across Eastway Pass, a small bridge connecting Uptown to Midtown. The drive was actually somewhat enjoyable as it gave her a great view of the river that divided the two islands. Unfortunately, the bridge disconnected in the middle, meaning she had to drive across Fayhurst Island, home to Hanover's only sanitorium and a sewage treatment plant.

She hated being anywhere near Fayhurst Asylum, always holding some deeply seeded fear that somehow, someday, Kiara too would end up here. That society would deem her unfit to live amongst them; that she was too broken, too dark, too far gone to be "saved." Kiara slammed her hand down in frustration on the wheel as she passed, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. She sighed, bringing her anger down to a simmer. Deep down Kiara knew that the only real reason she would end up in Fayhurst would be through her own actions. If she wanted to stay as far away from this damned island as possible, Kiara needed to keep a level head. _Or at least make an attempt to._ It wouldn't be easy. Kiara was beginning to become too dependent on her music; it was a crutch. If she wanted any improvement in her _condition,_ she would need to learn to function without it.

With that thought in mind, along with a softly budding new hope, Kiara made her way into Moorfield, a quiet neighborhood in Uptown. Curiously, the street lights had just begun to turn on. She quickly turned her gaze to the dash clock. _Only 7:45?!_ She groaned internally. It seemed in her attempt to "speed" through her self-condemning thoughts on Fayhurst, she had unintentionally sped through her drive home. She moaned again, attempting to slow her speed as much as possible.

There were other bridges from Midtown to Uptown. However, most of them meant having to drive through the more undesirable districts of Hanover: West End, Courthall, and Lakehaven. All of them were crawling with prostitution, drugs, and crime of all kinds.

It's true that the route she was currently on was the lesser of two evils, but it still meant that she would get home sooner on most nights. After a few more minutes of mindless banter with herself, Kiara began making the dreadful set of turns back. Each one was more painful than the last, and as she finally pulled into her driveway, Kiara could already feel the dark's icky tendrils make their way between the cracks of her doors and into her car. She reached up to her sun visor and instinctively clutched at where the remote for her garage door was located. The only problem, though, was that it _wasn't_ there. Kiara slammed her fist down on her steering wheel and silently cursed herself. She had forgotten _that_ damn thing too. Her throat was becoming dry, and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Kiara didn't want to go back outside, but without the remote, she had to. She tried to take a few calming breaths and took in her surroundings, hoping something could take her mind off that for a minute.

Her home was pretty simple really, despite it being in one of the wealthier districts of Hanover. The outside walls were comprised of dark brick with a few small clusters of white scattered about. The shingles of the roof were slightly lighter than the walls, and the whole thing was adorned with white trim. The windows on both the first and second story were barred, but tastefully so, having white shafts embedded into the glass instead of having those massive steel beams bolted to the outside which often left houses looking like prisons. _Although I suppose here, it's no different._ To the left of her home were the separate one-car garages. It was initially a two car garage, but her mother insisted that they have two doors because she was afraid of her car receiving damage from Kiara's, by which her mother meant to imply that she was not a very good driver and might scratch her "precious baby" or worse.

Kiara hadn't protested. There was no point in arguing over something so trivial, besides even if she had wanted to, there would be no changing her mother's mind. _Especially if she was in one of her moods._ To the right was the patio which was surrounded by thick white stone pillars connected by a simple white picket fence and opened only to the small two-step staircase leading to the beautifully crafted dark oak door. Her mother had had a passion for gardening, and as such, she had planted many flowers around the patio which gave the space a "secret garden" feeling. In hindsight, it was a very charming thing for her to do.

From an outsider's point of view, all appeared normal, fine-looking even, and would give them a sense that the family that lived here must be equally normal, equally fine-looking. They would be wrong. Kiara could see past the lie of a lovely two-story traditional house with inviting scenery and others could too if it's what they truly desired. Of course, none of them really wanted to. They were happy believing the lie. If one were to look closer, they would see the heavily draped curtains in the windows, the slowly dying flowers and the massive unkempt beech tree dropping its leaves over the main walkway like a jungle cat ready to pounce and claim its prize.

Kiara shivered at the thought of what kind of grotesque creatures might be residing within. She always hated that tree and the way its branches swayed around the window of her bedroom. Her room was upstairs, and just to the right of the front door, so the branches often hit the glass. She shivered again, but only because she was beginning to get cold sitting in her car in the dark. She didn't want to move, but she also didn't want to spend another second out here. Kiara pulled her coat as tightly around her as she could, grabbed her backpack, and threw open her door, power walking to her house.

In reality, it was a short walk that would last a minute at the most. However, in this unforgiving darkness, it felt like an eternity had passed before Kiara was even halfway there. She could feel the tendrils of the dark slither their way in and around her hair as the bitter wind blew through it, but that didn't bother her nearly as much as the drooping branches.

The leaves' cold and slimy texture caressed the side of her face. Each time it happened, Kiara could feel her heart beat more and more frantically in her chest. Her skin was crawling as the whispers of the night started to swarm around her head. Kiara was beginning to lose her focus on the task at hand and, not even halfway to the damn door, ran the rest of the way like a mad woman.

She pressed her burning forehead against the cool, smooth glass panel centered in the heavy wooden frame and practically cackled with relief. _I made it!_ Kiara reached into her pocket and was just about to pull out her keys when the door suddenly swung inwardly open. Gasping, she quickly threw out her hands and caught herself on the door frame.

"And just where in the _Hell_ have _you_ been?!"

 _Oh Gods, please no…_


	3. Chapter 3

The moment the door opened, Kiara was greeted by a pair of angry bloodshot eyes and a claw that snatched her forearm in a vice-like grip, pulling her inside with a violent jerk. The door slammed shut as Kiara caught herself for the second time tonight on the landing of the staircase to the second level. She struggled to find her breath and tried to go over what exactly happened just now. Kiara didn't think she had been so loud as to wake her mother, and in truth, she wasn't. However, after a quick assessment of the visible impression in the sofa near her, Kiara soon realized that her mother had actually been _waiting_ for her to come home. _How long has she just been sitting there waiting for the door to open?_

Kiara was still too dazed to register the question her mother had just thrown at her. A quick once over at her irritated body language though gave her the impression that she should answer quickly.

Which she was going to as she had begun forming "Well I—" if her mother hadn't beaten her to it.

"Oh, _no_! No more of your excuses, Kiara! I'll tell you where you were! You were probably out drinking or sparking up a joint or two by the way you practically tumbled in here like some _drunk_! Do you have _any_ idea what _time_ it is, young lady?!", Kiara's mother said as she positioned her face a mere two inches away from Kiara's. Her hands twitched at the base of her hips.

At this point, her mother had reached a point of anger where there was no use in reasoning with her. Her dark almond eyes were staring heatedly into Kiara's and her caramel mocha-shaded skin, which on any other day would gleam, was now dulled by the bright red that boiled just beneath the surface. Even her long, dark, and once silky hair was affected by her mood and now appeared dead and dry.

She looked a mess. Which, honestly, was no surprise. Another quick glance at her mother's hands below and Kiara inwardly sighed at the sight of a half emptied bottle of champagne. _Of course, she's been drinking._

Kiara faced her drunken mother once again and flatly stated: "It's 8:30, Mom," before slowly turning her face away from the thick fog of alcohol on her mother's breath and walked up the baby blue steps to the second-floor hallway.

Her mother, of course, did not appreciate being dismissed so abruptly and followed closely behind, stomping and yelling all sorts of threats and accusations while repeatedly and roughly, poking Kiara's upper back. The barrage of motherly _kindness_ did not end, unfortunately until Kiara was halfway into her bedroom when her mother slammed the door after giving her some kind of slurred lecture on "waking up her brother with her drunken nonsense." Kiara's little brother, Jacob, was surely awake by now, but she thought it best not to point out whose fault it _actually_ was.

Kiara waited until a few minutes after she heard her mother's bedroom door close to finally release a breath in a sigh of relief. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against her nightstand. It seemed tonight wasn't her night either. She slowly lifted her purse, which until now had been a small burden on her side, up and off her small frame. Then came her even heavier backpack, her black winter coat, and then finally she sat down at the edge of her bed and removed her bulky combat boots. _Oh, thank the gods._

Kiara's favorite thing after an unusually long day was the feeling of freezing cold air hitting her hot feet. It was like its own quiet little liberation. She cracked her neck, exhausted. Kiara wanted to get up and put her things back in their proper places, but she was much too tired. It was like she could almost imagine herself walking across the cold hardwood floors of her bedroom to place her backpack back up against her cluttered desk.

Looking at it now, seeing the multitude of journals piled on top of it, it was a wonder why the damn thing didn't just collapse. It was one of those secretary desks that would close like a bread box. It was very old and made of dark oak with antique brass "u-shaped" handles on all the drawers. It even had a small bookshelf underneath the desk and some small drawers nestled in the top corners that curved outward. The drawer underneath the counter had plenty of space for loose paper and pens, and the drawers on the sides increased in size on the way down, the largest even had locks that still worked. Kiara liked keeping her more personal journals there and often hid the key on her person. She didn't like using the desk for anything but writing or drawing. She did have a laptop, but that often stayed on the nightstand next to her bed.

Kiara had piles and piles of her journals stacked on and around the desk. Some were old and falling apart, some were spiral bound, leather bound, and a few even had locks of their own on them. She had a tendency to write down the majority of her thoughts and feelings whenever she had even the smallest amount of free time. This was especially true when she experienced an "attack," or at least she tried to. These particular entries were kept in the journals that locked. Kiara had attempted, in turn, to store these journals in the closed compartment of her desk, but she had eventually run out of space, so she opted on piling them to the side. Her mother was one to pry but wasn't much for lock picking, so security wasn't much of a problem.

Kiara made it a rule to not look at whatever horrible things might be scrawled inside them after they're filled as they tended to give her nasty flashbacks. She shuttered at the thought of what might be inside. Of course, not all of her journals were meant for such entries.

The majority of them were meant for her personal writings. Simple short stories and the like. The rest was dedicated to drawings, sketches, and things of that nature. Kiara liked to draw things she saw beauty in mostly: roses, her favorite flower, skulls, fictional characters, and stuff of fantasy. If she liked the rendition enough, Kiara would tape it to her walls. Hating the dull white paint, Kiara did all that she could to tape over every last empty space. Whatever spaces weren't covered with drawings, she covered with posters of her favorite TV shows or animes. Her father, when he was still alive, even gave her a very old katana and hung it high up on the wall for her. He at least tried to understand her. He knew she was different, but instead of condemning Kiara much like her mother did, he did what he could to nurture her unique spirit. As a result, her room looked like the little hovel of some madman. She loved it, though. It suited her, made Kiara feel safe in her room all alone.

 _Although I guess I'm never really alone if_ he's _always here._ Kiara didn't enjoy socializing very much, to the disapproval of her mother. She was content with just keeping to herself in her room, writing or drawing or what have you. Kiara looked back at her desk and furrowed her brow in contemplation.

It was strange, really. The only work ever done at that desk was Kiara's journal writings or drawings. She never actually did her homework there, which of course upset her mother to no end. She once even burst into Kiara's room on a drunken rampage and tried to manually push her desk out of Kiara's room. She blathered on about how the "expensive" desk she had bought her only served to encourage Kiara's mad _delusions_ before her mother retched all over the side of it and a few of Kiara's locked journals.

The next day, her mother offered to have the desk cleaned (she didn't see the journals, as Kiara hid them before she could notice the damage), but Kiara didn't trust her mother to actually return the desk (or her journals for that matter). So, Kiara cleaned it and her journals herself as best she could and let whatever stains be. The smell was gone, and that was all Kiara cared about.

Her eyes darted up towards the black, tome-sized, leather-bound journal that sat on the desk in the middle of the central pile and Kiara instinctively flinched. That journal, that _thing_ buried underneath her work, held what was possibly the most gruesome-looking monstrosities she had ever drawn. Each page contained a new horror: from the inky black tendrils that plagued her vision, to the ghostly shadow men that haunted Kiara from afar. They were the foul creatures that tormented her in the dark, that infested her nightmares, and that paved the way for _him!_ Kiara squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her core as tightly as she could at the thought of that monster.

Reluctantly, Kiara peeked through tight lids at the journal once more, for somewhere within that book of horrors was the rendition of the man that had terrorized her for the majority of her life. The "Bad Man" as she had oh-so- _cleverly_ dubbed him in her youth.

It started out simple really, just a man she would see every now and then when Kiara was very young. He did nothing at first but appear for a night or two and then vanished for weeks or even months at a time. He had the most peculiar appearance. He was very tall, nearly reaching the height of her ceiling. His skin was very pale, much paler than hers and he had swept back, long flowing black hair that ghosted about him. He also had a goatee that seemed to vanish just under his strong chiseled chin.

It framed very thin ruby red lips that curved into a sinister smile every so often. His nose was long and defined, but small. His eyes were perhaps the most fascinating. The left appeared normal enough. Baby blue framed by long black lashes. The right, however, was much more menacing. The iris was a very angry, glowing red and the pupil was slitten much like a serpent's. It was adorned by three long, parallel, and prominent scars that stretched from the middle of his forehead to just down past his high cheekbone. It frightened Kiara, even back then, but for some reason, he seemed _friendly_. He never spoke, but he did stare at her with a blank expression. She thought nothing of it. Oh, how stupid she was to believe that such a devil could be _harmless_. Eventually, the man became more and more prevalent during the night. He would appear more frequently and not just stare blankly, but accusingly. Almost _maliciously_!

Years passed, and soon he began speaking to Kiara. The conversations often led nowhere, consisting of nonsensical blabber. However, there were plenty of times, more than Kiara would care to admit, that they escalated into something much more sinister. He would call her the most horrible names and order her to commit unspeakable acts against her peers, her own family, even her cat. She never would, of course. Kiara refused to be bullied by a figment of her imagination. Oh, what a fool she was to be so defiant. Now when he appeared, he would laugh at her, heckle her, even scream at her. His bloodcurdling shrieks would echo in her ears alone for however long he chose to stay and torment Kiara.

 _My own personal boogeyman._ She would wake up a nervous wreck. In honesty, Kiara hadn't slept for days. She was exhausted. She took a few calming breaths to try and push the foul thing out of her mind, at least for now.

Her eyes lazily began to scan the rest of her room, not paying much attention to the piles of clothes strewn about or the occasional piece of litter. Her dresser was very plain and made of similar dark wood to match her desk. She had a couple of old desk chairs positioned in the corners of her room and used them for whatever she needed: a stool, a table, a place to hold more clothes. Kiara also had an extensive bookcase that kept most of her interests within in it and a medium sized flat screen on top of it. She had a collection of RPG video games, some sewing supplies and some horror movies on one side, and the rest was filled to the brim with books. It was the only bookcase Kiara had, so naturally, she also had piles of books stacked to the side of it. It was possible that Kiara loved to read almost as much as she loved writing in her journals. _Almost_. _Horror novels are especially my favorite._ She was debating whether or not she should pick one up, but decided against it. Kiara was too tired for much of anything.

The only source of light in her bedroom was the two windows facing the front of the house, which was covered by black heavy black-out drapes, and the small table lamp on one of her nightstands. She did have a very small nightlight plugged into the outlet on the other side of her bed, though, for obvious reasons. This light was _always_ left on. Kiara sighed as she could feel herself start to drift off and was all too happy to let go until she realized that she was still wearing her makeup from earlier. _Ugh._ She could feel all of her bones groan in protest as she brought herself up and off her bed.

She had an antique full-length mirror in the far corner of her room, between her dresser and her bathroom door. After removing her black thick rimmed glasses and setting them on top of her dresser, Kiara grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dampened it just enough to gently wipe the dried crusty eyeliner and mascara off her lids. She started rubbing the foundation off her face, grimacing as she did so. Kiara didn't like wearing makeup aside from solid black nail polish, but it was more of a necessity. She had trouble sleeping most nights, and as a result, Kiara had deep dark circles under her hazel eyes. It was a horrible contrast with her ghostly pale skin. In a particular light, she wouldn't be surprised if someone mistook them for black eyes.

Kiara threw the towel onto the nearest pile of clothes and grabbed her brush from the top of her dresser to try and brush out as many tangles as she could from her long, wavy dirty blonde hair. She liked her hair on most days. It was thick like her mother's and naturally curled. If she allowed it, Kiara could even hide behind it. It created a style that was decent enough to go out in public. She had a small nose and moderately high cheekbones along with a set of full pink lips. Kiara hardly ever smiled, so it always looked like she was either pouting or scowling. She didn't mind as it put off most people. Kiara enjoyed her personal space.

As for the rest of her, well Kiara wasn't very tall, just a little over five feet. She had her mother's figure, meaning her chest and butt were a decent size, but Kiara wasn't exactly petite. She did carry a couple extra pounds, unfortunately, but she did like to think she was in decent shape. Kiara had curves, and she felt comfortable in a modest swimsuit when the weather called for it. On other days, Kiara would wear either black jeans or modest dark colored skirts and black opaque tights underneath. She avoided shorts like the plague, as she hated them. Kiara also loved wearing black graphic tees and blouses, along with her favorite baggy sweatshirt. Black was the color she wore on an everyday basis. It was just what Kiara felt the most comfortable in. Today she had been wearing dark jeans and a black blouse with 4 metallic buttons. She had opened the first two to showcase the medium-sized, teardrop-shaped jade amulet she liked to wear. The top of the amulet was encased in silver and had four loose curls draping over the front of the stone. Three cascaded in one direction upward while the fourth curled away from the first two. It was held by a simple silver chain. Kiara touched it absent-mindedly and sighed. It used to belong to her grandmother. Green was her favorite color. _I miss her._

She sighed again as she could feel all the tension Kiara had been carrying from today's events weigh down on her. Kiara let the brush slip from her hand onto the floor and practically dragged herself back to the edge of her bed after grabbing her glasses. She had remembered to place her pajamas on her nightstand and peeled off her skinny jeans, tossing them to the nearest pile along with her blouse and bra. She then quickly put on her fluffy black pajama bottoms and threw on a black tank top and a dark grey knit sweater. _Why the hell is it always freezing in here._ Kiara's bed was pretty simple, a dark frame with a small shelf in the headboard. Her comforter was decorated with a modest purple floral pattern. It looked so soft and inviting that she couldn't help but just let herself fall back onto the cotton plushness. Kiara turned off the lamp, closed her eyes and took long deep breaths to try and clear her head before she consequently fell asleep…

~Pitch's Lair

Deep within the Earth, in a labyrinth of dark and murky rocks and shadows, a menacing presence was awakened yet again. Its hideous cries rang through the miles of endless tunnels and passageways. Stumbling deeper through the maze of darkness, in a monstrous cavern, there was revealed to be a shadowy prison. A large dome of living shade centered at the bottom of a nearly bottomless pit that appeared to hold some once powerful entity. As the cries continued, the dome seemed to quiver and shake. It was struggling to hold its prisoner. The shadows that were once all too happy to imprison their master within their cold, inky clutches began to shrink away from their captive in terror as the malevolent spirit bellowed roar after roar. It was unknown whether it cried out in pain from slowly escaping its confinement, from anger at being disturbed from its long slumber, or from some combination thereof.

Once the majority of the shadows had oozed away, the screeching spirit pulled himself from the remainder of his prison and snarled in triumph! He crawled slowly forward, breathing shakily and sweating profusely. He was finally _free_. He found a nearby boulder and gathered what little strength he had left to pull his limp, naked body up on top of it in a sitting position and tried to catch his breath. He ran a shaking hand through his wild black hair to sweep back a few strays. The coal-colored locks seemed to come alive as they felt their host's hand pulling through them and quickly swept back and up into their naturally spiky position.

Slowly, the shadow man lifted his head, "Wh-."

The attempt at speaking had immediately sent the shade into a coughing fit. He needed water, air, _something_ to calm his burning throat. However, the spirit was unsure of his surroundings and quickly looked about him.

Looking up, it was apparent that the traitorous Nightmares had burrowed deep within the central cavern of his lair when they imprisoned him, as he was surrounded by walls of carved stone that stretched well past his ashen fingertips. He could see the many dangling cages that he had used to imprison the mini-fairies as part of his last thwarted plan. The spirit growled lowly in frustration at the memory but quickly shoved his disdain aside. He needed to escape the pit and _quickly_ , as the Fearlings which he had once called allies were sure to be aware of his escape by now and the bottom of a pit was no place to face them.

Reluctantly, the Nightmare King pushed himself up and off the boulder. He immediately regretted the sudden movement but forced himself to continue. He braced his tired and weary body against his hands and them, in turn, against the cool dark stone and attempted to _will_ himself into their shadowy embrace. Now typically, he would begin a search for shadows dark enough to slip into, but this wasn't a problem in the lair of the Boogeyman. No, what was the _problem_ was that when the spirit had attempted to slip away, the shadows refused him. He was weak, drained, and in no condition to teleport _anywhere._

The former king pounded into the stone in anger. The accursed Fearlings would recapture him for sure unless he escaped this bloody pit _now!_ Out of frustration more than anything, the spirit had begun trying to scale the monstrous walls, but after a few failed attempts resulting in painfully embarrassing falls, he gave up on that method as well. The former king was beginning to lose his patience and roared in frustration. There _had_ to be a better way!

Then suddenly, like a flash of brilliance, it dawned on the spirit that the weakened Fearlings who had imprisoned him in the pit must still be _here_ with him! He quickly ducked his head around this way and that until he found his target: a lesser, weakened Fearling quivering under a small pile of debris. The former king took on the most malicious sneer and beckoned the cowering shade ever forward with a taunting gesture. The living shadow obeyed reluctantly, fearing for its own life. Which it rightly should have, for as soon as the Boogeyman was within reach of the once malicious shade, he snatched the poor thing in his hands with a death-like grip. Ignoring the creature's shrieking cries, he seemingly _crushed_ it until the Fearling was no more than a puddle of thick, murky, liquid shadow. The malevolent spirit cackled in victory and quickly devoured the revolting substance until there was nothing more but an oily stain on the palm of his hand, which the greedy shadow man lapped at happily.

The weakened Fearling contained nowhere near enough power to recharge his depleted energy, but it would have to do for now. The shade hadn't fed off of the fear of his Fearlings for what seemed like a millennium. It was a _disgusting_ process, and the whole ordeal left a revolting taste in his mouth, but the spirit couldn't be picky now in his lowest hour. Feeling slightly less drained, the spirit closed his eyes to compose himself and once again attempted to slip away into the surrounding shadows. It was a slow process, and it required much concentration, but the attempt seemed to be _working_ this time. For when the former king opened his eyes, he awoke near his reflecting pool in the main cavern. It was a success!

The Boogeyman, suddenly remembering his severely parched throat, dropped to his knees and plunged his head into the pool, taking a long exaggerated swallow. The ice-cold liquid provided much relief to the shade. Dousing the fire in his cracked gullet. The celebration was short-lived, for upon exiting the pool and sighting his reflection, the Boogeyman had discovered that he looked a sheer _mess_. His hair which once appeared as glossy as obsidian stone now appeared as chalky as mica. His skin was a sickly pale grey and seemed tight as it stretched over his grossly showing ribs and hips. He was even gaunter than he was _before_! His eyes which once sparkled dangerously like a solar eclipse now appeared as dead and as dull as a drifting comet.

The painful-looking dark circles under them genuinely expressed just how weak this former king was. The only thing that seemed to mark an improvement in the shade were his hands. He looked at them, _really_ looked at them now and was marveled. During his capture, he seemed to have acquired claws, shadowy black talons that stretched over his fingertips. He looked down at himself to see if anything else had changed. Aside from the illusion of sleeves he usually had in place being gone, the shade noticed that he seemed to have a network of spidery black veins creeping over the majority of his person. They wrapped around his arms, ensnaring the tattoos he had worked so hard to etch there, his legs, the edges of his abdomen, the sides of his neck and even framed his gaunt face. Whatever the Fearlings had done to him, it was obvious there were scars. He sighed, not really sure how to feel about this new look. Then it finally occurred to the boogeyman, like a flash of lightning, that he was _naked._ The spirit ducked and looked around frantically. Oh, this just wouldn't _do_! He needed his coverings and fast before the Fearlings arrived, but could find no more living shadows!

With another growl of frustration, the spirit reluctantly used the last of his newly gained strength to form a pair of leggings and a tunic. He then quickly donned the coverings and waited for the mass of Fearlings and Nightmares to return, which they did in a great and mighty horde. The weakened spirit steeled himself and curled his lips in a ferocious snarl, daring the traitorous party to strike him back down into the pit. However the strangest thing happened, they did _not_.

The spirit was admittedly surprised by the horde's reaction, but wouldn't dare show it. Instead, he gathered as much strength as he could and roared at the shades. This severely drained him, but he refused to back down. The party staggered backward slightly, but the boogeyman was no fool. He knew the treacherous creatures were not to be underestimated. However, the spirit was beginning to sense the slightest hint of fear in the air. He dropped his guard but for a moment, quickly ducking his head about him, expecting to find a small child perhaps, or an animal. Something that could point to the source of the fear. Then it dawned on the former king: the fear was coming from the _shades_ …

Raising his head up high in wild confidence, not daring to let this one chance slip him by, the Boogeyman took a step forward boldly, a wicked grin beginning to stretch across his lips. The shades hissed in protest but started backing down none the less. At this the spirit rumbled with achievement, filling his very being with the fear of his minions, he raised his arms above his head in malicious joy, his sleeves returning, and cackled like a madman. The Fearlings and Nightmares that had once possessed the power to overthrow their master were now being backed into a corner by the very same spirit! The tables were turning, and they had _nowhere_ to run. The Boogeyman used this to his advantage and for the second time, attempted to speak.

"Well now isn't this just a _lovely_ surprise?!" He sneered at the once mighty horde, who were now flinching at his words.

The shade was thoroughly pleased that he regained the use of his voice. He cackled again before continuing, "Oh yes, I've come back to you, my _traitorous_ Nightmares! Did you all think I would stay in your pathetic excuse for a prison and be your miserable little captive for all eternity? That there was no hope that I would ever escape? That I would _surrender_ myself to you double-crossing _leeches_?! HA!"

The shadow man laughed in their faces, reaching for as many Fearlings as he could and crushed their essence from them in his bare hands, drinking up the living shadows as grotesquely as he could to frighten his once faithful minions. The party now began disbanding about him, screaming and quickly scurried away in a blind panic.

The shadow man's cackling had died down to sinister chuckles as he dropped his shoulders and began sauntering over to the massive hollowed out globe in the center of his cavern. He cocked his head to the side and gave the many flickering lights an exasperated eye roll.

"Those damn blowhards are still alive… _wonderful_."

He caught a Nightmare eyeing him from afar and growled at her, "You there! Come here!"

The Nightmare whinnied in protest, but hesitantly began approaching its former master. At this, the Boogeyman smirked, he was starting to reestablish his dominance over the lot.

When the Nightmare was within striking distance, the spirit grabbed at its mane and pulled it forward. It screeched fearfully but dared not buck away from the malicious shadow man.

He leaned in slightly, "How long have I been _kept_ here?" he said with a sneer.

The Nightmare at once grew defiant, refusing to look the Boogeyman in the eye. The shadow man roared in the face of the Nightmare, shouting it back in its place and the Nightmare fearfully whinnied at its master in response.

"What?! You mean to tell me I've been trapped here for nearly _half_ a _bloody_ _century_?!" He screamed at the Nightmare, tossing it aside in disgust. It quickly galloped away to hide with the rest of its kind.

The Boogeyman knew that in his current condition, he was nowhere _near_ a match for the Guardians. Sure, the fear from his minions had been a much-needed jump-starter, but that wouldn't hold him for long. He was still much weaker than he was even before he tackled the Guardians all those years ago. He needed _real_ fear, _mortal_ fear, and he needed it _soon_. Otherwise, he would revert back to that pathetic mess he was just a few moments ago, and he was entirely sure that this time, the Fearlings would keep him down in that pit for _good_.

The shadow man growled in frustration. What was he to do?! If he went off and began scaring the children of Burgess again, the blasted Guardians would surely pick up on his trail in no time flat and beat him down until he was no more than a greasy stain on the bloody pavement! _No_! He couldn't go back to scaring children willy-nilly. He needed a plan. A precise strategy that went over every possible contingency. He would have _no_ more random spirits showing up and ruining all his hard work!

Deep in thought, the Boogeyman pressed his hands up against the negative spaced metallic shell and began forming plot after plot in his mind, impatiently dashing away the bits he thought weren't good enough, like a sorting machine. His eyes shifted quickly between the millions of flickering lights on the globe's surface. They seemed to mock him now as they danced in their brilliance, representing the belief in the very immortals he came to despise.

The shade growled in frustration for the umpteenth time today. Oh, if only there were some way to just _avoid_ those blasted Guardians. If the shadow man could just gather enough fear in _peace_ , he might have a chance of survival yet! Then it came to him. Yes… The spirit's eyes widened at the realization that this was precisely what he should do! Oh, he knew he hadn't the strength to go very far so he would have to gather fear from the closest children possible. However, he needed to get away from Burgess, make a fresh start someplace new. _Yes_ , that was it. The shade leaned away from the globe, deep in thought. Where was he to go? It needed to be far enough away from Burgess to allow the Boogeyman to regain some of his power, but close enough that the journey didn't thoroughly drain him.

He began pacing around his globe, his eyes darting back and forth between the lights and the ground. The Guardians would surely not notice a few lights going out. Children are exposed to so much these days. Even years before, many children just refused to believe in the Guardians or the Boogeyman for that matter. It had nothing to do with him or his Nightmares. These children were just so out of touch with hope and wonder. They were surrounded by pain, by _hopelessness_.

The shade's head snapped up, an idea quickly forming. He ran back to the globe, searching frantically for Burgess on the map. Once he found the large cluster of lights, he took to its surroundings, searchingly desperately for a break in the chain. He needed a place that had very few lights as it is, a place of pain and hopelessness. A place devoid of wonder or happiness.

The Boogeyman's eyes laid on a small negative space to the northwest of Burgess, a large city in another state. The shade delicately placed a single talon in the space, his lips twitching up into a wolfish grin.

"..Hanover.," he whispered.

The shade threw his head back and laughed a deep, echoing mad laugh. He threw his arms high above his head and twirled in place, the shadows stretching to wrap around their master and pulling him into their cold embrace. Yes, at last, the shade had his plan and a place to wreak havoc on the children of the world in peace and quiet.

Woe to the citizens that sleep peacefully in Hanover City. For the Boogeyman had awakened. The time had come for darkness to reign once more.

Pitch Black was back.


	4. Chapter 4

Kiara woke up with a gasp, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. The booming of thunder could be heard outside, the flash of lightning beaming through the cracks of the curtains and illuminating her bedroom for just a moment. She flinched at the sound, balling her comforter in her hands. _It's fucking raining… typical._ Kiara took a few shaky breaths, sighing as she swung her tired legs over the side of her bed and stood up. _Another nightmare._ This was the third one this week. She walked into the bathroom, the bright lights stinging her eyes as she nearly stumbled across the cold black tiles to the porcelain sink. Kiara brushed the hair out of her eyes, filling the sink's basin to the brim with cold water. She didn't feel like tying her hair up, so Kiara just cupped some water and threw it at her own face. She tried washing away the grogginess, the anxiety, the fear that bubbled just below the outer layer of her being.

She knew this wasn't the last nightmare, just as it wasn't the first. However, that didn't mean Kiara was going to sit here and cry about it. She should be used to these by now. Draining the sink, she grabbed a nearby towel and dried her face and the few strands of hair that got caught in the splashes. Kiara sighed, looking up at her reflection.

Her eyes widened in terror at the face that stared back at her. She was met with a pair of mismatched eyes, red and blue, and a sinister smile. Kiara stifled a scream, falling back on her butt. She tried covering her face, curling into a ball to avoid looking at those eyes. _Why_? Why the fuck did she need to relive this nightmare over and over? _I'm awake! I'm fucking awake!_

Kiara kicked her feet at nothing, sputtering out grunts in frustration. She was sick of waking up and seeing those eyes, of going to sleep and seeing those eyes. She was sick of all of it! Slowly, she uncovered her face and looked up, sighing in relief when the attack had passed. _At least it didn't last long._

She picked herself up off the bathroom floor, turning off the lights and walked back to her softly lit room, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand. Kiara headed straight for her desk. She wanted to go to sleep, to try and get as much rest as she could, but habit refused to let her. She needed to write her nightmare down, get in on paper and forget about it. If she didn't, Kiara would be stuck with those eyes in her head for the rest of the night.

Kiara sat down at the desk, shoving aside a small pile of journals she had stacked on the chair. Her body was screaming at her to go back to bed, but she wouldn't listen. Sifting through the multitude of loose papers, she found the massive black tome. The cool leather brushed her fingertips, sending chills up Kiara's spine. She _hated_ this damned book. Yanking it from its makeshift den, she set it down on top of the papers and threw it open to a fresh page. Opening the small drawer, she grabbed a good black pen and began writing.

Her hand moved on its own, scrawling out every gruesome detail of the nightmare, filling up a good three pages with the account. Whenever Kiara needed a new page, she merely yanked the filled page aside, flipping it in anger. This was the worst part of the attacks, compulsively writing them out, putting the incident to paper. It angered Kiara, but the payout was worth it. She would feel so much better when the thing was done.

Sometime later, Kiara had reached a conclusion, the nightmare written to completion. She was almost done. _Almost_ , but not entirely. She still had to draw out the end scene, the monster's last hurrah before she was released. _Those fucking eyes._

Some would argue this was self-inflicted torture, drawing the very thing that kept her up at night and that tormented Kiara to no end. She didn't give a damn about what they thought. This was her process, and she would stick to _it_. Kiara had started sketching the right eye first, as it had more detail. The scars were especially tricky to get just right, but it wasn't impossible. Soon after, she had completed half of the sketch. Her hand had already started cramping, but Kiara ignored it. Now on to the left eye.

 _Thump!_

She tore her eyes away from the sketch, Kiara's mind protesting at the interruption. She stared straight at her door, listening intently for whatever could have made that sound. Some time passed before anything else was heard. Kiara had hoped it was nothing.

 _Thump!_

That settled it. Something was definitely moving around outside her room, but what? Kiara turned to face her alarm clock. It was well past midnight, so who could be up beside her? She put her pen down, intent to finish the sketch after some investigating. Tiptoeing to her door, Kiara cracked it open just the tiniest bit, silently praying that the hinges wouldn't squeak. To her surprise, they didn't. Kiara looked out into the hall, darting her eyes about for the source of the noise. She saw nothing, only darkness. She cracked the door more and more until Kiara was standing outside her room. There was _nothing_ here, no one meandering about.

Maybe Jake had gone to the bathroom and returned to his room?

She slowly made her way to Jake's bedroom door, which was only a few feet from hers, and pressed her ear to it. Kiara held her breath, trying to hear anything. Her eyes widened when she heard whimpering. Something was wrong with Jake. What could it be? Was he having a nightmare? Did he wet the bed? Was he sick?

Kiara's chest squeezed with concern for her little brother. She _had_ to know what was wrong with him. Slowly, tentatively, she turned the handle of Jake's door and opened it just enough to slip into it and close it silently behind her. Jake's door had a habit of squeaking much louder than her's. Often the squeaking would wake Kiara far earlier than her alarm, but she didn't mind. The extra time gave her a chance to write some before getting dressed.

Her back was facing Jake's room. After shutting the door, Kiara turned slowly, calling out to Jake in a hushed tone. "Jake. Jake, wake up, buddy. You're just having a—."

By the time Kiara had faced Jake, she felt her heart stop. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Looming over Jake's bed was a tall shadowy man, tinkering with a loop of some dark mass hovering just above Jake's sleeping frame.

He was thin, his clothing black and unadorned, clinging to his form. His skin was a sickly pale grey, with a mass of gross black veins that outlined his face, and his messy black hair spiked up and away from his head. His teeth looked jagged and his _hands_. They were tipped with pointed black talons that seemed to stretch over his fingertips. _What is this?_ He hadn't noticed Kiara as he appeared content with just watching the mass writhe and change shape, delighting in the whimpers it produced from her brother.

 _What is that?! Who is he?! What is he doing to Jake?!_ Kiara's mind raced, her breathing became labored. Was this some new hallucination? Was her mind not tormented enough by the horrible nightmares? By the darkness? By _him_?!

She grabbed the sides of her head, the scene much too much for Kiara to take in, and she screamed louder and more instinctively than she ever had before.

 _That_ did it.

The shadow man's head snapped up in her direction, his eyes wide and angry and his smile completely gone. For a second he looked confused, almost surprised at Kiara. She wasn't sure why and frankly she didn't care. She clamped her hands over her mouth, regretting ever uttering a sound. Her eyes remained glued to his metallic glowing orbs. There was something about his face. It looked so angular, so inhuman, yet human. It was _haunting_. Kiara whimpered, tears streaming down her face. She tried to speak, lowering her hands.

"Who… Who are you?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

The man looked taken aback. Like he was amazed at how she could have gathered enough courage to even _speak_ to him. He stood away from Jake then, who apparently hadn't been woken by her scream.

Kiara pressed her back into the door, gasping as the shadow man took step after step in her direction. Her reaction only seemed to prompt his pursuit.

His eyes were locked on hers, his face holding a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and something else Kiara couldn't quite describe. The man looked sick, tired, and _hungry_. What was this monster? Did it eat children? Was he to eat her instead now that she had gone and interrupted his meal?

He stopped a few feet in front of Kiara, looking down at her with that same unreadable emotion. His mouth opened as he finally spoke.

"You can see me?" he asked.

This time, Kiara was the one who was confused. What could he have possibly meant by that? Kiara was petrified by his voice. Never had her hallucinations sounded so sincere, so _driven_. _Was he British?_ Her brow furrowed, but she thought it best to answer the monster before something horrible happened. Kiara had to keep Jake safe. She couldn't speak. Her throat was far too dry. She merely nodded, hesitantly. That seemed to be enough.

The shadow man's thin dark lips cracked up into a terrifying smile, his eyes still conveying that unreadable emotion. He took a step towards her, his chest heaving with soft laughter. Kiara flinched, throwing herself against the door again.

 _No. No. No. Please, gods, no._

Kiara should have run, she should have screamed. She should have done _something_ other than let that monster get as close as he did. She could see the same black mass circling up by his feet, gathering in his hands.

He broke out into a wolfish grin, lifting the mass and getting ready to hurl it towards her.

Kiara started hyperventilating, the intense fear she was feeling kept her glued in place. This was it. _This_ was how she died. She could feel a tingling in her core, traveling down to her hands, which heated them up considerably. She gasped, trying to shake the heat away. It _burned_. Kiara brought them up to her face to try and examine them, but the shadow man had gotten too close.

Kiara screamed, lifting her hands up and away from herself, trying to block whatever attack the shadow man had in store for her. Whatever heat she had been feeling in her hands, somehow radiated outward, an invisible force fanning from her and hitting the shadow man square in his abdomen.

Kiara gasped, looking down at her hands. She couldn't see much of anything, except a plum colored mist. Her eyes broke away from the fog to the heap that was the shadow man. He had been thrown to the far wall. He groaned, grabbing his head with those disturbing taloned hands and turned to snarl at her, flashing Kiara his horribly pointed teeth.

"Oh, you'll _pay_ for that, girl," he threatened.

She threw her hands up again, unsure of what exactly had just happened, but not willing to let the shadow man see that it was purely accidental.

"S-stay back!" Kiara shouted, mentally cursing herself for letting her voice quiver. "I'll do it again! I swear!"

The shadow man snarled, darting his eyes uncertainly between her hands and her eyes. His eyes were narrowed, and he began to rise. Kiara tried to remain calm, but deep down she was panicking. What was happening to her?

She doubted she would ever have the answer. Kiara's thought process was interrupted by a vicious pounding coming from the other side of Jake's door. She turned to look at the source but was met with the handle of the door digging into her side and throwing Kiara forwards, just inches from the shadow man. She gasped, throwing herself back onto her hands and tried to crawl away from him. She hit her head on a pair of legs and winced.

"Kiara, what the Hell are you doing screaming in Jacob's room?!" her mother screeched, grabbing hold of Kiara's arm and yanking her to her feet.

She looked back towards the shadow man, but he had vanished. Kiara searched around for him, but he was gone entirely. Even the mass that had been floating above Jake's head had disappeared.

Jake sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and looked directly at her. He sleepily smiled at Kiara. "Kiki made the monster go away," he mumbled.

Their mother's eyes widened in shock, the disgust on her face blatantly apparent. Her grip on Kiara's arm tightened.

She winced again, her brow furrowing. _What did Jake mean?_ "W—," she attempted to speak.

"That's enough, Kiara! I won't have you in here in the middle of the night, spreading your delusions to your innocent brother! You keep this _nonsense_ to yourself! In your _room_!" she yelled, yanking Kiara out of Jake's room and slamming the door.

She tried to pry herself from her mother's grip, to explain herself, but her mother wouldn't hear of it.

"No! No more excuses! It's 1 o'clock in the damn morning! Go to your room and go to _bed_!" she screamed, shoving Kiara into her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Kiara tripped over her own feet, landing on her hands and knees. _What had just happened?_ She let herself fall over until she was laying on her side, her legs pulled up to her chest. Kiara blinked a few times, trying to make sense of whatever she had seen in Jake's bedroom.

Some time had passed until she felt the familiar pull of the journals. Except this time, it was a Hell of a lot stronger than Kiara had ever experienced. She got up to her feet, scrambling towards her desk and sat down. Kiara felt numb, picking up the pen and letting her scrambled thoughts be jotted down in ink and paper. Her chest hurt and her head spun, but Kiara somehow managed to write down every last detail of that second attack. She looked back at the sketch that had been interrupted. It meant nothing to her now. Not with this _new_ face, this new hallucination.

She furiously began sketching out every last detail of the shadow man. His tall, lithe form, his long dark robes, his short spiked hair, his chiseled features, his ink like veins, his brilliant golden eyes that bore into Kiara's core, his taloned hands, and even his jagged teeth. She wanted to get every detail exactly right. Kiara left nothing out. She even rummaged through her drawers just to find a few colored pens to really make the rendition appear life-like.

After a couple hours had passed and her hand had cramped into a loose fist, Kiara was done. The attack had been logged in full detail, and the sketches had come out almost perfectly. Kiara would say almost because she couldn't quite make out what the shadow man had been tinkering with. It looked grainy and was black and seemed to shape itself into whatever the shadow man willed it to become. It was difficult to get the texture just right, so she left it as a black blob composed of many black dots. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to calm the anxiousness Kiara had been feeling.

She sighed, finally letting the pen fall from her grasp. Her hand and forearm would be killing Kiara tomorrow, but it was all worth it. She yawned, not even aware of what time it was. She didn't care. Slowly, her head fell towards the journal, resting on the pages of her work. Kiara tucked her tired arms under her head and sighed. She was so tired. She didn't even care if she had another nightmare. It didn't take very long for Kiara to fall asleep, her eyes drifted shut, and she let sleep take her.

~(Pitch's P.O.V.)

The Boogeyman snarled, pacing back and forth on the roof of a particularly _interesting_ family's home. What had just happened inside, in the room of a damaged young boy, would forever haunt the shade. A girl, a young woman, much older than the child, in fact, had _seen_ him! She had _heard_ him! She had screamed when Pitch had attempted to feed off of the boy's fear. She had been afraid of him, feared for both _her_ life and that of the boy's.

This had been exactly what the shade had needed. A massive spike in fear, a fresh new start. He had found something that he hadn't had since the Dark Ages: a believer that was older than a pathetic bloody _child_! He had planned on taking full advantage of it, of scaring the girl out of her wits and reclaiming some of his power, and he _had_ , to an extent. The only thing Pitch hadn't counted on, was the girl possessing some kind of ability. She had pushed him, knocked him clean on his arse.

This troubled the shade. Was the girl even mortal, then? Was she even bloody _human_? She must be. Pitch could still hear the sounds of her frantically beating heart in his ears, could smell the sweat pouring from her. She had been terrified, had feared for her life. No spirit fears for their life. They're immortal, as Pitch is, as _all_ spirits are. No, the girl had to be mortal, but was she human? She _seemed_ human enough. Her fear was nothing like that of any other mortal creature he had come across in his time. Then how the bloody _Hell_ could she possess such abilities? How could she push the shade away? What had she even pushed him _with_? There was no damn attack! It had been some invisible force shot from her hands, her damned _mind_ , perhaps.

Pitch's eyes widened in realization. _The girl could move things with her mind_. He stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth slightly agape. _Could it be?_ He had only read of incidents where humans were capable of actual telekinesis but had never seen such a feat, let alone _experienced_ it first hand. He snarled, looking at the house down below him and kicked a shingle from the roof. A human girl had made him look like a fool! Had tossed him aside like some ragdoll! He wouldn't have it. This was completely _unacceptable_.

The nearby shadows clung to the feet of their master, wrapping around him in response to his mental command. They brought him into their cold embrace and took him to the source of his rage: the girl's bedroom.

The shade peered around the room, tucked safely away in the corner nearest the door. He looked straight ahead and couldn't help the sinister smile that crept across his face. She was asleep at her desk.

"How _precious_ ," Pitch sneered, stepping out from his hiding place.

He approached the girl slowly, careful not to wake her and ruin the fun he had planned. The Boogeyman looked down at the girl's hunched over form, eyeing the papers she had been laying on. The shade's hairless brows furrowed as he carefully picked one up by its corner and examined it. He smirked. The girl had drawn him, quite accurately, actually. He looked upon the near-perfect rendition of his form. The confused expression he had worn just hours ago was quite good. He looked down at the others. In some he was angry, in others, he had no expression. Some were only of his eyes, or his newly taloned hands and one had him conjuring a ball of what appeared to be nightmare sand.

"My, I seem to have a _fan_ ," he quipped, letting the drawing fall from his grasp. "Too bad for you, I don't exactly take kindly to being _thrashed_ around like a mangled corpse," he said through clenched teeth.

The Boogeyman was fully intent on giving this girl, "Kiara" as her mother had addressed her, the worst nightmare he could possibly give her. She would pay for her transgressions. He was met with a rather prominent roadblock, however. The girl had no dream sand above her sleeping form. Pitch cursed under his breath. How was he to give her a nightmare if she had no dream sand?

The shade looked around, trying to gain some insight on Kiara. He picked up one of the journals stacked off to the side of the desk and opened it, flipping through the pages briefly before tossing it aside. She appeared to be reclusive, unsociable and judging by the numerous amounts of journals concerning her daily life and nightmares, it was clear that the girl was a tortured soul indeed. Pitch smirked, leaning back against a wall. The Sandman was known to give older humans pleasant dreams if their lives were horrid enough and this girl could flood a small village with the amount of ink she had used to describe hers. If the shade were lucky, the Sandman would pay this little _wretch_ a visit and give Pitch the perfect opportunity to exact his revenge. He decided to wait.

An hour had passed, and the Boogeyman was beginning to lose his patience. The damned sun would, no doubt, be up soon, so where in bloody Hell was that bloated ball of dreams?! Pitch snarled under his breath as a familiar golden glow seeped into the room from the sides of the thick curtains. A wolfish grin spread across the shade's face as a thick loop of dream sand snaked its way across the girl's room and began to circle 'round her head.

Pitch practically squealed with delight, holding back just long enough to try and gather a glimpse at what the cursed girl could _possibly_ dream of. Unfortunately for both Kiara and the shade, neither of them would ever know.

The dream sand that had begun circling overhead lurched, caving in on itself and writhing from within. From the center of the golden sand, formed a black mass. It ate away at the dream sand and turned it dark, the once warm glow of the sand now cold and demanding. Pitch's eyes widened in horror and disbelief. He hadn't even _touched_ the halo of sand and yet here it was, changing to nightmare sand all on its own! He looked down at the sleeping girl. She hadn't even flinched.

Pitch took a few steps back, looking from the nightmare sand to the girl and back again. This human girl was capable of creating nightmares all on her own. He cocked his head to the side, wondering if the sand was still able to be manipulated. The shade walked back over to the girl and touched the sand, willing a portion of it to separate from the ring. He took it in his hands, molding it and giving it life, turning it into a Nightmare.

The sandy mare whinnied, digging a hoof into the floor of the girl's bedroom. Pitch stifled a cackle. The girl could make Nightmares, and she probably wasn't even _aware_ of it. He took a closer look at the mare, marveling in its slightly plum colored texture. It was coarser than his own sand and possibly much more durable.

The Boogeyman grinned a large toothy grin at the girl, a plan yet again forming. This troublesome young lady might be precisely the advantage Pitch needed in regaining his footing. He would make sure to keep an eye on her. He took the odd-looking Nightmare and disappeared into the shadows, his laugh echoing throughout Kiara's bedroom.

This is _exactly_ what he needed.


End file.
